Semua Bab THE DIVORCED WIFE RETURNS TO TAKE BACK WHAT’S HERS : Bab 71 - Bab 80

ELENA Hart Capital Management rises out of the city like it owns the skyline. Glass, steel, and confidence. The car slows at the entrance, and for a moment, I just sit there, fingers curled in my lap, breathing through the weight of it. This is not nerves; I recognise the difference now. This is awareness. The kind that sharpens your spine and straightens your back. This is mine. The doors open. The moment my heels touch the marble floor, the air shifts as people look up. Not because they recognise me, because most of them don’t, but because presence doesn’t need an introduction. It announces itself. I feel it ripple outwards as I walk beside Alex, my stride steady, my expression unreadable. The lobby is vast and minimalist. White stone, dark accents, quiet wealth. There’s a faint scent of coffee and something expensive I can’t name. Screens display market movements, numbers flickering like nervous hearts. Whispers start immediately. “Is that...?” “That must be...” “She’s young

DAMIAN The door closes. Not softly nor politely. It thuds a final, satisfying sound that echoes through my office like punctuation at the end of a long, ugly sentence. I stand there for a moment, staring at the wood grain as if it might crack open and swallow the last few years of my life with it. My hands are shaking not from regret,but from restraint. I drag a hand down my face and let out a breath I didn’t realise I was holding. The office smells faintly of Isabelle’s perfume. Too sweet and too loud, it suddenly feels suffocating. I press the intercom. “Cancel the rest of my meetings today.” A pause. “Yes, Mr. Blackwood.” The line clicks off. I drop into my chair, the leather creaking under my weight, and lean back, staring at the ceiling like it might offer absolution. It doesn’t. All I see is Elena standing on that stage, composed and powerful. Elena walking away from me without looking back. Elena holding Angela like she belonged there, because she did. My ch

ELENAI woke up before the sun did, smiling like someone who had just been handed a secret she wasn’t supposed to have.For a second, I lay there, staring at the ceiling, listening to the quiet hum of the house. No Angela padding down the hall yet, no voices, just stillness. The good kind. The kind that wraps around your chest and whispers, This is yours.I slipped out of bed and padded straight to my study, my bare feet cold against the marble floor. The violin case sat where it always did. Polished, patient, and accusing. I hadn’t opened it since the Golden Star Foundation event. Every time I’d walked past it, I’d felt… nothing. No pull, no ache, and no need. And that terrified me more than I ever admitted.But this morning? My hands were already reaching for it before my brain could catch up.I unclipped the latches carefully, almost reverently, like I might spook the thing if I moved too fast. The smell of aged wood hit me immediately, familiar and grounding. I lifted the violin o

DAMIAN The moment Elena’s office door shut behind me, the smile dropped from my face like it had never existed. The corridor outside her office was too quiet, too pristine, and too hers. Hart Capital carried her name now, her energy already bleeding into the walls, and that realisation burned worse than any insult she’d thrown at me in that room. I walked towards the elevator slowly, deliberately, every step heavy with restraint. Bring it on, she’d said. God help me—she looked exactly like the woman I fell in love with when she said it. Fierce, unyielding, afraid, but refusing to bow to it. That was the Elena I married. The Elena I lost. My jaw clenched. She had no idea what she’d just done, or maybe she did, and that scared me more. The elevator doors slid open, and I stepped inside alone. As the doors closed, my reflection stared back at me in the polished steel. The ruthless billionaire CEO. The shark. The man magazines loved to paint as untouchable. They never wrot

DAMIAN The courtroom empties, but I stay seated. For a man who’s been in boardrooms that could buy and sell this entire building, I’ve never felt smaller. My lawyers are talking... strategies, probabilities and contingency plans, but their voices blur into background noise. Words like joint custody, primary residence, best interests of the child float past me like debris after an explosion. Best interests. As if love can be measured in schedules and signatures. I loosen my tie. My hands are shaking, so I clasp them together, elbows resting on my knees, head bowed for just a second longer than pride allows. I replay Elena’s testimony whether I want to or not. I woke up every day believing my child was buried in the ground. That line lodged itself somewhere painful and permanent. I did that. Not intentionally, God, never intentionally, but intentions don’t erase consequences. Every night I tucked Angela in, every bedtime story, every promise I made her about her mommy coming back